


Paging Doctor, Love

by FallenGabriella



Category: Alien 3, Alien Series, Prometheus - Fandom
Genre: F/M, I Wrote This Instead of School Work, M/M, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Timeline What Timeline, We Die Like Men, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 16:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: ‘Love’ isn’t his name, it isn’t even what he offers… At least he doesn’t think it is.Everyone falls in love with Clemens at one point or another… Often all at once.((A series of semi-long snippets with characters falling in love with Jonathan Clemens because he deserves way more love in this fandom where he gets none. First series of prompts are taken from Tumblr and revolve around kisses.))





	Paging Doctor, Love

**Author's Note:**

> Last Engineer’s name is Jyotis which means: ‘Light’.
> 
> Ignore anything you know about any kind of timeline. Things are about to get weird. But, I promise that future chapters will be more one-on-one, and that Clemens will meet and be with each character separately in a far more canon-compliant one-shot. As adverse to whatever this nightmare is that I just created.
> 
> Honestly, I have no idea how this spawned in my brain, but it did and it demanded to be written.

“Daddy, why does everyone kiss you?” Clemens choked on his coffee. His throat burned, lungs working as he gagged on heat and the sudden thickness of his own tongue. He almost flailed, grappling with the edge of his desk, and the back of his chair as he made to turn. He finally managed to swallow, spluttering and hacking deep in his chest.

Clemens turned his head, green eyes wide upon the sight of the ruddy cheeked, messy haired, wild looking girl standing in the doorway of his room. A guilty wince painted her features, three of her upper teeth missing in the right side. They had Ripley to thank for that, it was her ‘fault’ that Newt had suddenly taken an interest in jumping from high places, to see if she could land with the same easy grace as her ‘aunt’… Ellen was still simmering last he checked.

“What?” He closed his lips tight, coughing in his chest to dispel the lingering coffee and shock.

“Everyone kisses you.” Newt observed, her brow furrowing as she strode over. Quiet, virtually soundless if not for the scratch of her calloused toes across the carpet. Her little elbows rose to sit on the edge of his desk, shiny brown eyes glinting like warm earth covered in early morning dew. She rested her chin in her rough, small fingers, showing all the band-aids he’d carefully wrapped around them. “I know there are different kinds of kisses. But you give the same kind of kisses to everyone! Uncle David, Auntie Ripley and even Jyotis!” Her lips pursed into a thin line. “I thought you were only supposed to kiss people like that if you loved them like… well, mommy.”

Clemens’s mouth twisted, crinkling upwards in what might have been a smile, but was closer to a grimace. He knew they were going to have this conversation eventually. It was inevitable. Newt was smart, obviously far smarter than they gave her credit for at eight years, but he didn’t think they’d have to so soon.

“Well, you see, daddy is…” He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Namely because he himself didn’t know what he was. Ellen had jokingly likened him to glue more than once; “the only thing that keeps this rust-bucket going”. He’d rolled his eyes.

She’d been the first to notice. Of course she had, she was always much better with these things than he was. Or maybe she wasn’t, and it was just because she was on the outside looking in, watching the way the others moved and even spoke around him. David was the most obvious in his affections, though Clemens had refused to believe it at first. But it was all right there, whether he chose to see it or not.

David liked to watch him, his too blue eyes focused on him with such eerie intensity that Clemens could feel when his gaze fell on him. He always knew when Jonathan was up at night, often appearing in the soft azure light of the infirmary shortly after he himself had walked in. They shared midnight drinks, talking into the wee hours of the morn on various books, practices, and old personal stories… Of which he had so many and David always so few. He was guilty of often being so wrapped up in them that he got lost, pulled back by the smooth smile on the android’s face. He always apologized and David always rebuffed him.

Ellen was… weary of him. She still bore scars from another of his kind that had yet to heal, probably never would. But she had also told him it was okay to kiss David, to allow him close, to hold him and allow him the same… affections he had her. It was odd, strange in a way that he couldn’t name. Not David himself, not the way his body felt, or even his fascination with the simplest human things. There was something he couldn’t name, some intangible, unbreathing thing that linked them while keeping them separated. He hated that David could feel it too.

That didn’t stop him from clinging to him, from sinking his teeth into his neck and shoulders, from gouging his clear white nails into the lean lines of his back. Sometimes, it felt like he was trying to tear him apart, like he was trying to shred through this invisible, awful barrier and strip him down past his skin. Maybe he was looking for his soul. Maybe he was searching for his own somewhere inside him. Clemens kissed him, held him, fucked him through that bizarre melancholy.

Loneliness was a hell he knew all too well.

Ripley was coy, aloof, and wild. Newt shared that latter trait with her. She was vibrant and impish, skirting a razor’s edge none of them would ever know, but he had glimpsed once or twice. Unlike Ellen, so cool and composed, she was primal and raw in everything. He wondered if that was the Xenomorph in her, or maybe it was something else. Her.

She was like Ellen in so many ways: from the mask of her face, to the way she carried herself, the way she laughed, and the way her face moved when she smiled. Physically identical if one ignored the glossy shine of her hair – green, not blue – and her nails. But everything else about her: how she walked (though he would liken it more to stalking), how she talked, and the way her eyes glinted as if she knew something you didn’t. That was all her. Ellen would never be so presumptuous, would never flaunt her body so openly, nor _tackle him over a fucking table_. She was direct, downright blunt, but she had never taken the wheel quite so literally.

He felt the game beneath the hunter, a tigress with firm thighs gripping his waist. Clemens’s jaw had twitched, hands clenching on her hips. He couldn’t move her, not if she didn’t want to be, but her eyes were burning in a familiar way.

Like Ellen’s were after he’d come back on the ship, soaked and flushed from helping at the dock. Fresh supplies nearly stacked the ceiling in crates, needing to be sorted, stowed away, but she’d dragged him back to their cabin. His clothes had clung, heavy and growing hot against his skin, highlighting every curve of muscle and jut of bone. He’d never considered himself an overly attractive man, but then she’d shoved him onto the cot and rode him till he felt like he couldn’t breathe, and the room was a hazy mess of stars. His knuckles hurt from gripping the headboard, straining beneath her, legs shaking and weak. The sheets were soaked with sweat and rain, the air thick with the same salt of skin and heaven, which he swore he could see every time he looked at her. Gods, love had turned him into a poet – love? Yes, that was what he saw when he gazed up into her warm eyes, and what he saw now when Ripley stared down at him.

She’d lowered, laying overtop of him like a warm blanket, her tongue peaking from behind her teeth. Hot and wet up his neck, behind his ear, words curling with the same sensation right into the back of his head. Slowly, shakier than he’d wanted to admit to, he removed his hands from her. He didn’t want to be caught up in their game, her game, whatever the hell this was. She assured him it wasn’t one. Ripley had looked over her shoulder towards the door, and he’d been forced to follow her gaze. Ellen was watching, arms crossed, with a lame look on her face.

“You’re either going to fuck her or you’re not.” She’d fucked him. Because at that point his tongue had stopped working even if his cock hadn’t. She was slicker and warmer between her thighs, clawing into his chest, scratching at his nape with her dulled talons. His hand tangled in her long hair, memorizing how her emerald-black curls caught on his rough knuckles.

Ripley was the same in their cot, pushing him to be rougher, harder till they both broke from a mixture of agony and pleasure. But sometimes… sometimes she pulled him in, and their hips didn’t clash till they shattered upon the shore. Instead, they met with a rhythm he’d perfected with Ellen. Soft, slow… melding skin instead of slashing it open. Those were the nights she draped herself over him, tracing the scars they’d left on him, or ones he’d gathered himself from one errand or another.

Jyotis was, undeniably, the oddity in all this. _He_ certainly hadn’t had the idea to come onto a nine-foot-tall or other giant that may or may not have been the progenitor of their species. No, he was most certainly not. That award too, went to Ellen. She’d been alright with him shagging an android and her bloody clone, this was… much the same principle.

He didn’t even know what it was. It being whatever ethereal force drew them to him like moths to a flame. He was no less lost or broken than any of them, adrift in much the same way their craft was when they decided to power down within a belt of stars or a cloud of cosmic dust. He didn’t feel as if he was any kind of oasis, the drink that would abate their thirst, the thing that could make them whole. He didn’t know what medicine to give them to stunt their pain, the kind that transcends all physical bounds, itching and burning beyond the molecular level. No, this kinship, this unending isolation that festered beneath the skin that couldn’t be named nor driven away by drink or drug.

Perhaps he had the cure all along and he didn’t even know it.

Ellen said he was the most patient, but patience didn’t make a creator get down on his knees and suck your cock, now did it? Or maybe it did, and he was being cynical. The thought alone was certainly crass enough for his bitterness. But why was he bitter?

Jyotis had the softest lips, softer than Ellen’s even, and they were warm. He half-way expected him to be cool like the marble he appeared to be made of. He was a damned fool. Jyotis was warm because he was alive and his species had made humans, so why wouldn’t he have a usual temperature of around ninety-something? The something being because his brain had short-circuited in the two seconds it had taken the other to grab him by his shoulders and drag him in.

Jyotis had been sitting on the bed, because otherwise it never would have been that easy. He wondered still if that was what surprised him… or maybe it was the fact that he’d kissed him at all. He’d had a very strange – wasn’t everything aboard this ship? His various relationships with its inhabitants aside? – sense of victory that felt a lot like vertigo. He remembered Ellen muttering something about Jyotis blushing, as if he wondered if he could. After that moment, Clemens could confirm that he could, in fact, blush. Quite a pretty shade of blue, a little purple around the edges in his cheeks. On a human it would have looked like nasty bruising, on his ivory flesh it looked natural and lovely.

He’d informed her of such later, only for her to laugh at him.

Jyotis had rushed out of the medical wing, while Clemens stood there, staring at his hand and the still very full syringe in his other one. He’d moved his hands gently up and down, consoled by its familiar weight, and sighed out his nose. He wondered if he shouldn’t start keeping a tally. Gods’ knew he’d shagged every single one of them in various positions and places all over the entire ship. He knew it inside and out, where the cupboards were, which ones were soundproof (Ellen liked privacy and Jyotis was incredibly shy), and which ones weren’t (David didn’t care, and Ripley reveled in it).

He wondered if it was culturally acceptable to sleep with another man in hindsight… Though, Jyotis didn’t seem to have any reservations when he’d caught Clemens alone in his room. They’d stood there, at opposite sides; Clemens with one hand full of papers, and the other raised to sort through them, fingers wedged between this one and that one; and Jyotis by the door, body ready to bolt, and fathomless depths glinting with that strange cross… He didn’t think something that mirrored an inanimate, religious object should make one feel quite so aroused. And it most certainly should not look _hungry_ of all things.

He was still wondering about that one. How he ended up on his back, staring at the ceiling, pants around his thighs, with a throat closing just so – wet and _hot_ – around his cock. He’d tugged him up, fumbling with the trousers they’d had to make for him because XXXL just wasn’t going to cut it. They’d very quickly realized no amount of lubricant would either. At the time… for penetration. It did, however, help the ride of Jyotis pushing his hips against his. Two very sensitive, burning body parts rutting against each other till they made a thorough mess of his sweater.

He would say that it was a crying shame that humans had developed some form of slow down mechanism where ‘Space Jockeys’ possessed none. Jyotis could be ready again at the drop of a coin while he was stuck for a solid five minutes, a record most had praised, and he’d only been a little proud of after meeting Ellen. That didn’t stop them from going at it another two times.

And Ellen said he was the patient one on the ship.

“Daddy is…”

“Very loveable.” They both turned, his savior wearing a smirk that would stop any devil in its tracks. Which meant every Xenomorph in the cosmos was a damn, blind-running fool who couldn’t tell their arses from their heads. Though, to be fair to them, their domes really didn’t look like – He didn’t finish that thought. Mostly because he didn’t want to, another because her lips were on his, and her fingers were kneading into his shoulders like a cat’s. Clemens tilted his head, giving her full reign to stroke her tongue across his own, a quick dance that left the tip of his own tingling.

It might have shocked someone to know that neither of them ruled the other. Oh, certainly, he was patient and nonchalant, but he also very regularly agreed with Ellen. There was a rare time when he didn’t, actually. Even in their bedroom, when the doors closed, and all the rest of the universe was welcome to run itself into the proverbial dirt… They moved as one, in sync. It was as jarring as it was welcoming, the merging of skin and thought, breaking past the bitterness he freed the others from.

The others sought their solace in him, and he found his in her. He wouldn’t say it was fairer with her, that the balance was tipped more in one or the other’s favor in terms of relief. No, it was something else. Another, third, unseen force that wound tight to their bones and souls.

His hands rose, fingers threading with hers upon his shoulders. He closed his eyes, leaning back into her, resting his head against the space beneath her breasts. Clemens gaze flickered open just enough to see Newt, staring wide-eyed, her head bowing to form a slow nod. As if she understood, as if she finally saw what it was that drove the others to him, what kept them so close.

Perhaps that was why they came to him…

He was their doctor, and he was more than willing to share in whatever it was that Ellen and he had, if it meant he could heal them.


End file.
